When He Wakes
by High-Functioning Ginger
Summary: "To hell with pretense!" Sherlock snaps more for his benefit than John's since John has no idea what he's talking about.  Our boys finally stop pretending. Sequel to "When He Sleeps" . Fluff with a tiny bit of plot.
1. When He Wakes

_**AN: So here is the sequel to When He Sleeps. It will be a two-shot in which they get over their "sleeping pretense" and finally get together. Of course.**_

_**I will be updating soon – tomorrow I hope. Anyway – I hope this is what you guys were looking for when you asked for a sequel. Let me know your thoughts.**_

_**Enjoy!**_

**Disclaimer: I'm praying to Santa to bring me the right to Sherlock. Until he does so I own nothing.**

John stirs. Slowly his senses awaken and return as consciousness washes over him.

The first thing he becomes aware of is the sound of muted voices and music coming from near by. His foggy mind slowly processes them; noting that he doesn't recognize them.

Then comes scent; the aroma of stale Chinese take-away. And another aroma

delightfully sharp and crisp that he can't place but he knows is very familiar.

He's rather fond of that scent; if he could just recall what it is. Then he becomes aware of the fact that his bed is longer and narrower than he recalls.

Wait - bed? He's not in bed.

Couch. In front of the TV. That makes sense.

Actually it doesn't. Why is he on the couch?

_Oh_. Right.

His groggy mind manages to recall details from the night before.

They'd just finished a case two days ago and Sherlock hadn't had the chance to succumb to boredom and black moods yet. So it was an unusual chance for the two of them to spend a companionable evening together befitting two friends. John suggested they have a simple night in; order Chinese and watch a favorite spy movie of his that he thinks

Sherlock might enjoy. Sherlock was doubtful that he would enjoy it but agrees anyway.

John can get rather defensive when it comes to his movie choices.

So they settled on the couch munching egg rolls and watching the movie.

Twenty minutes into it and Sherlock is already bored but manages to keep his complaints to a minimum for John's sake. Really it is nice just to sit together.

He'd always underestimated companionship until John came along. And even though boredom was beginning to nag at his mind he remained on the couch; cocooned in a blanket; alternately watching the movie and John. The latter more frequently.

He noted from the corner of his eye that John was preparing to stand judging by the mild contracting of his leg muscles and subtle repositioning of his hands so he asks before John can even began his ascent "Where are you going?" "To fetch a blanket. It's getting cold." "I have a blanket." he offers. John doesn't understand though and gives him an amused grin. "I can see that. But I don't" Sherlock lets out an irritated huff and clarifies

"I mean we can share it." John stands, shaking his head. "It's fine. I'll just fetch the one off my bed." Exasperated Sherlock begins untangling himself from the blanket saying "Don't be ridiculous. There's no reason for you to expend unnecessary energy going upstairs to get another blanket when I already posses one large enough to be utilized by the both of us." John lets out a sigh and settles back onto the couch because really;

it does sound foolish when Sherlock puts it like that. He shifts towards Sherlock;

who flings half of the blanket over him before returning his attention to the movie.

Of course Sherlock isn't really watching the movie; he's covertly monitoring John from the corner of his eye attempting to determine his reaction and opinion to this closeness. John for his part is a mite uncomfortable. He's sitting rather stiffly trying to maintain minimal contact with Sherlock. It's not that he has a problem with this; he might even have enjoyed it if he wasn't so concerned about Sherlock deducing his affections at such a close range. It's one thing when Sherlock is sleeping; he's dead to the world then; but when he's awake and observant...

"John is there are reason you've decided to impersonate a statue?" Sherlock quips irritably at John's tense posture. After that kiss the other night in the cab Sherlock was sure John returned his affections; yet he seems so uncomfortable being in close contact. What's going on?

John jumps a bit at the question but recovers himself quickly and responds

"This is just a bit different." "Different?" Sherlock inquires scanning John's face.

"Yeah. Bit weird." "Ah." Sherlock says turning back to the TV screen. "What's weird about two friends sharing a blanket for warmth?" He mutters rhetorically.

John doesn't have an answer for that and realizes Sherlock is right; there's no need to be so uptight. It will only further the detective's suspicions anyway. So struggling to appear normal he shifts into a more comfortable position. Tucking his leg underneath his he shifts closer to Sherlock until they're sitting shoulder to shoulder.

He gives Sherlock a side-long glance trying to gauge his reaction and is pleasantly surprised to note a small smile quirking up the corners of his mouth. Relieved he manages to return his attention to movie. Sherlock is very pleased to say the least.

It's so cozy and warm cushioned between John and the arm of the couch. He finds himself getting drowsy; a very unusual sensation for him. Generally he doesn't have this odd sort of "down-time" between his bursts of energy and his desperate need for sleep. He's either fully awake or fully asleep. But not now. Now his eyelids feel strangely heavy and he can feel his thoughts blurring.

A few moments later John notices that Sherlock has gone strangely quiet and still.

Glancing over he sees that Sherlock has fallen asleep. He can't suppress the grin that lifts the edges of his mouth as he watches Sherlock's sleeping form. The pale light reflects on his porcelain skin; casting shadows and catching on the angles. John finds himself watching it more intently then the movie and when he realizes this he quickly refocuses his attention to the TV. He really does love this movie and yet he's only managed to watch it for about twenty five minutes total this evening. Ridiculous. Well maybe not.

He has a worthy distraction. Said distraction is now making him drowsy though with the unexpected amount of warmth his cool steely friend is radiating from under the blanket and a lovely crisp aroma seems to be enveloping him. He thinks for a moment that perhaps he should go to bed.

But it's so comfy here; why move?

He vaguely recalls a scene from the movie about fifteen minutes before the end and that's when everything goes dark.

Having recalled the details leading to his couch slumber he suddenly realizes that; if memory serves him correctly there is another person on the couch.

He simultaneously realizes that the couch cushions behind him seem to be breathing.

It all clicks into place and he actually lets out a startled gasp when he realizes Sherlock is spooning against him. He instinctively tries to sit-up but is hindered by a gentle but firm weight around his waist. Sherlock has his arms slung almost possessively around his hips;

holding him close. He settles back into the warmth allowing him to enjoy the moment.

He can feel Sherlock's steady heartbeat reverberate through him. Feels the gentle rise and fall of his chest gently bumping against his back. This is wonderful.

And horrible; because he suddenly realizes that Sherlock will eventually wake up; finding John in his arms.

What is he going to do? How will Sherlock react? This is certainly something more than friendly cuddles. This could change things. For the better or for the worse.

And he's not sure which is more likely. Perhaps he should move up to his room;

let Sherlock assume that John went to bed and left him on the couch after the movie ended. His frantic musings are cut short though by a sharp intake of breath that tells him Sherlock has awoken.

John freezes. He lies with baited breath waiting for Sherlock's reaction.

"John?" comes a sleepy mumble from behind him. "Yeah?" he manages to croak.

Is his heart trying to escape from a harsh fate that it's sure is coming? Is that why it's pounding painfully against his chest as though it's trying to burst through? The seconds drag by before Sherlock finally asks in groggy confusion "What's going on?"

"We uh - fell asleep." John supplies lamely. Nice way to state the obvious.

Sherlock doesn't comment on this though; like he normally would. Instead he murmurs

"I see." obviously unsure of how to react. Neither move nor speak for a moment waiting for the other's reaction. John dimly notes that Sherlock hasn't shoved him away or leapt off the couch yet; which he supposes is a good sign. Though it could be that the detective it still processing their situation. Awkward silent seconds tick by as they wait for the other to dictate the result of this unusual wake-up.

At that moment a God neither believes in decides to take pity on them.

Or perhaps torment them further depending on how you look at it; with a text message.

"Ping!" comes the sharp noise from Sherlock's mobile lying on the table amidst empty take-away containers. John practically leaps from the couch thankful for an easy escape from the awkward situation. He snatches up the phone and quickly scans the text.

"It's Lestrade. Case. Serial killer. Just found his fourth victim." Sherlock's off the couch and at John's side by the word "case" scanning the text over his shoulder.

He actually lets out a crow of delight at the news; whirling animatedly towards his room. "Dress John. Quickly!" he calls before shutting his door. John tosses the mobile on the couch and dashes to the steps; taking them two at a time.

Sherlock's out the door ten minutes later shouting for John to hurry; and their unusual morning lies forgotten in the recesses of his mind.

John's undecided on whether or not he's grateful for this.

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	2. When They Realize

_**AN: So here we are with the second and final part of When He Wakes. I hope you've all enjoyed it and I hope it's met your expectations. Please let me know your thoughts on how they finally get together and their characterization. I want their relationship to be believable. Dramatic love declarations don't seem like their thing to me so I hope you like how I structured their admissions of affection.**_

_**Also I'm American and I know nothing about UK military uniforms. So I'm not really sure about the accuracy of the dog-tag bit. Please forgive my ignorance – crime plots and cases are not my strong point in writing.**_

**Disclaimer: I'm praying to Santa to bring me the right to Sherlock. Until he does so I own nothing.**

Twenty three minutes later and they're pulling up to an elegant hotel turned crime scene.

Lestrade meets them in the lobby and takes then up to the room and the victim; explaining the details on the way.

"This is his fourth victim in the past month and a half. We can't discern any connection between the victims. The first was an auto mechanic on the other side of town. The second a school teacher. The third was a woman who owned a bookshop and now this one. He was a thirty eight year old accountant. Staying here with his wife for the weekend; courtesy his parents. It was his birthday gift apparently. We don't know anything about the killer. Strangles his victims. But no prints; no traces. Nothing. The only possible lead we have is from the wife who says she noticed a tall blond man on their floor earlier today that she hadn't noticed before. He could just be another guest though." Sherlock quickly approaches the corpse not even bothering with a glance at Donovan when she sneers "Morning freak." He drops to his knees quickly beginning his examination. John moves to stand behind him and watch him work. After a few moments Sherlock lets out a growl of frustration. "Nothing relevant!" he snaps glaring at the corpse as though it's his fault there is no helpful information to be gained from his death. "What do you mean nothing relevant?" Lestrade asks; growing concerned. Sherlock always finds something. "Well if I was trying to determine the bakery where his mistress buys breakfast from or deduce his favorite television show then we'd be in luck. However we aren't looking for any information about the victim and the killer hasn't left anything!" He rescans the corpse with an irritated glare. "John do an examination."

he huffs after a moment. "What?" John asks disbelievingly. "You just said there's nothing relevant" "I want you to determine cause of death." "They already have cause of death. Lestrade just said - they were strangled." "Well confirm it." Sherlock snaps irritably. "Sherloc-" his protest is cut off in mid-sentence by Sherlock grabbing his belt buckle and yanking him down. He fumbles, falling forward onto his knees. "Sherlock!" he scolds angrily as Lestrade makes an odd sort of sputtering sound at Sherlock's unorthodox action. "The cause of death John." he insists before standing to sweep the hotel room. There's got to be something here!

John mutters expletives under his breath; but does as he is told.

He finds that Sherlock; as usual is right. "They weren't strangled."

"What?" Lestrade gawks "They have bruising on the neck; but it's superficial." John explains. " Not enough to be the cause of death." Sherlock doesn't bother trying to hide his triumphant smirk.

"Really this is a new level of incompetence for the Yard. Congratulations Lestrade. Your agents can't even determine a cause of death. Thank god London rests in your capable hands." He says with a derisory smile. Then turning to John he says "Well what do you think then?" John's gaze travels thoughtfully over the body and after a moment he answers "Got to be poison. You'll have to get blood work done to determine what sort." Lestrade just nods. "Right. We'll get on it then." "Good. John and I will stop by the Yard and get the case files. I need to look over them." "Course. I'll text and let them know you're coming by." in response Sherlock sweeps out of the hotel room calling

"Come along John." as he goes. As John scrambles quickly to his feet he catches Lestrade giving him an odd sort of look. John hurries after Sherlock; not wanting to decipher its meaning.

The next week is miserable for John. The case files were "moronically useless" according to Sherlock. They didn't have enough information about the crime scenes to suit him so they went to investigate on their own. Of course.

This meant three late nights spent scouring a car garage; a walking park and the storage room of a bookstore. London decided that they should have as difficult of a time as possible catching this particular criminal; blasting them with rain and cold all week long.

Sherlock was becoming increasingly sour; screeching on the violin constantly or snapping at John for everything from eating to breathing. It was a nightmare.

This killer was good. He left no evidence at all; made no mistakes. And they still couldn't find any sort of connection between the victims. John had taken two extra shifts at the clinic that week just so he had a sound excuse to be away from the flat for a while.

Away from Sherlock for awhile. And of course nothing was mentioned about their little snuggle session on the first day of the case. It's just his luck isn't it? A chance to tell Sherlock how he feels and a murderer just has to ruin it. But then killers have never really been the romantic sort have they? He actually chuckles a bit as this thought occurs to him because it's rather macabre but strangely amusing. A bit like his life now.

That night when he gets in he has his heart set on a nice cup of tea and relaxing book. They'd been swamped at the clinic all day and he was already weary and worn from the case. That meddling "divine being" is back again though.

Just as he's shrugging of his damp coat Sherlock come tearing out of his room.

"Ah John you're home. Excellent! Another victim. Just got the address. Let's go!" he says snatching his own coat off the hook and scrambling into it as he rushes past John. John doesn't bother to protest just shrugs back into his coat and dashes out behind him. It's horrible and he knows it; but he's actually pleased that there's another victim. Another victim means another chance for the killer to slip up. To give them something. To end this hellish week.

When he reaches the street Sherlock is already climbing into a cab shouting "Hurry John!" John hurries; scrambling into the cab as Sherlock reels the address to the cabbie.

Thirty two minutes later and they're pulling up to a small café surrounded by yellow tape and flashing lights. Is it a bad thing that John feels so at home around the sirens and police?

Sherlock bolts from the cab leaving John to pay as usual. John does so quickly and scrambles after Sherlock. They duck under the police tape; Sherlock tossing a sardonic smile at Anderson as they pass him. They cross the central dining area of the comfortable airy café and enter the kitchen were the body is. Lestrade and a handful of other agents are there waiting on them. Sherlock ignores the lot of them saying "John check the body." before launching straight into his own examination of the surrounding area.

John doesn't bother to argue though he doubts he will find anything. If the killer has made a mistake Sherlock will probably be the only one who can spot it.

Or not.

"He was in the military." Sherlock whirls about in confusion. "No he wasn't. His grandfather died in combat. He has an aversion to conflict -" John cuts him off.

"Not the victim Sherlock. The killer." Sherlock crosses the room and is on the floor next to him in an instant. "How do you know?" he demands. John lifts the victim's palm and shows him. There is a faint but definitive outline in the shape of a dog tag with faint numbers and letters. "He must have grabbed it during the struggle. Left an impression." Sherlock's eyes widen comically as he process the fact that John has just solved the case. "Its - he - military. How?" He stands quickly turning to Lestrade who looks so happy John expects him to hug someone. "Paper. Pen. Now!" Sherlock demands.

Fumblingly Lestrade supplies Sherlock with the items and he drops back to his knees quickly deciphering the imprints and writing out the information. He stands then and John quickly follows. He reads off the information aloud; adding a few of his own deductions in the midst. Basically case closed. Now they just have to catch him.

Lestrade smiles triumphantly "Brilliant!" and surprisingly Sherlock joins in the revelry giving a relieved and elated laugh. Turning to a shocked but pleased John he exclaims "You're magnificent!" before tossing the paper at Lestrade saying "We'll meet you at the address." and sweeping away. John's on his heels as they dash to hail a cab; adrenalin from his discovery coursing through him.

Two hours, a short foot-chase and rough fist-fight later they have the killer in custody.

"Another one down." John comments happily to Sherlock as they stand surveying the scene. "Yes. You deserve credit for this though John. You were amazing."

John laughs off the praise but Sherlock persists "No really. This is why we're friends." Then gives him an unusually warm smile; before walking away to finish up with Lestrade.

Donovan approaches John; having overheard their conversation.

"Don't let it get to you." she says giving John a strange sort of smile.

"Sorry what?" "He doesn't mean it. All that about you being friends and such. That's not how he works." She says with a bizarre combination of pity and a sneer.

John feels a wave of anger washing over him. "Really?" He asks; his voice eerily calm. Donovan misses the fact that it was a rhetorical question; a warning and continues. "Yeah. It's manipulation. Makes you think you're worth something. Makes you think he actually cares so that you'll do what he wants. But he doesn't care. About anyone.

I've warned you once John and I'll warn you again. You need to get away from him and stay away. He enjoys this stuff. He's just a twisted freak." she finishes; waiting for John's reaction. Big mistake.

John is usually a rather mild-mannered person. Despite the war or perhaps because of it he has an amazing supply of patience. There is almost nothing you can say to insult him because the words just roll over him. His friends are another matter entirely.

While he can take almost any offense against his person if you utter a single word against those he counts as his friends you've just done yourself in. Insult his friend and you're asking for trouble. Insult someone he loves and you must be damn near suicidal.

Years of military discipline taught him to keep his emotions in check but no amount of training could prevent the tidal-wave of fury that washed over him at Donovan's words.

He couldn't stem the flow of the vengeful words if he wanted to. Which he really didn't.

"Sherlock does this for free. Solves _your_ crimes for no pay. When he's on a case he doesn't eat, doesn't sleep, doesn't rest, doesn't _stop_ until the killer is behind bars or on rare occasions, six feet under." John's glare is cold and sharp enough to accomplish the latter task. "You spend you're time degrading him for being different. Yeah it's true he enjoys this stuff. But you know what? Catching murders doesn't seem like a bad past-time to me. You're recreational activities however seem to be limited to sleeping with another woman's husband. And you're telling me there's something with _Sherlock_?"

Donovan takes several steps back as though she's been dealt a physical blow. Indeed it feels as though she has when every word stings as it washed over her; seeming as though the tone and delivery where carefully calculated for maximum impact. The harsh dialogue rolls from John's tongue with a disturbing ease.

Lestrade; who arrived in the midst of the conversation with Sherlock behind him gapes openly at John. They all stare for a few heartbeats in a shocked silence before Donovan recovers herself and begin to retort angrily "You bastar-" "Sally go help Agent Richards." Lestrade quickly cuts in. "But he -" "Now Agent Donovan." he insists. Throwing a sharp glare at John she spins furiously on her heel and stalks off. Lestrade look uncertainly between John and Sherlock for a moment before saying "Right. Well why don't you boys go home?" It's clear he wants to ask what prompted John's impassioned dialogue but he refrains. Still reeling from his anger John sweeps away as soon as he hears Lestrade's permission.

And for the first time in the history of their acquaintance John is the one whirling from the crime scene leaving a very confused Sherlock standing blankly in his wake. It only takes a moment for Sherlock to recover himself though and he easily covers the distance between himself and John; arriving at his side just as a cab is pulling up to let them in. "John! That - you were - I mean what you said was -" John cuts him of sympathetic to his difficulty expressing emotions. "It's fine Sherlock. I know"

"No." Sherlock insists because John doesn't know. "No one's has ever - I - you're"

"It's no big deal Sherlock." John insists with a smile as he goes to climb in the cab.

But Sherlock grabs his arm; holding him there. He needs to make John understand.

Why is it that when he needs it most his eloquent vocabulary abandons him? But even the most verbose of paragraphs couldn't express the sensations and emotion assaulting him right now. So he settles for a simple four word sentence. "It is to me." he insists quietly catching and holding John's gaze willing him to understand. John does and nods slowly still holding his gaze. They're having a strange sort of wordless conversation with each trying to read, to understand exactly what they're seeing reflected in the other's eyes. Neither are quite sure what is being said or what it means but they're simultaneously aware that the other seems to be tilting forward.

Is it his imagination or is John leaning in a bit?

Is it just wishful thinking that Sherlock seems to be tilting his head slightly?

"Are you two actually planning on going anywhere?" The forgotten cabbie snaps from his window. Sherlock quickly steps away feeling as though he was just doused with cold water. John doesn't meet his eyes and scrambles quickly into the cab. Sherlock climbs in as well his mind struggling to process exactly what just occurred. Or almost occurred.

_Emotions. Gratitude. Protectiveness. Loyalty. Affection? Love? Leaning in? _

_Lip-licking. What was John's intent? What was mine? Kiss? Misunderstanding?_

Sherlock thoughts chased each other in endless circles of questions as the cab drives on.

A voice breaks him from his fervent musings though. "Aren't you tired?" he glances at John to see that's he watching him with an odd look. Tired? Where did that come from?

Seeing his confusion John clarifies "You haven't slept in four days and it was a rough chase. Thought you might be tired."

Sherlock catalogues this -

_Concern. Endearing. Platonic? Why should I be concerned with sleep now? _

_Why is John concerned with my sleep now?_

" Right. I'll sleep when we get home." he offers hoping that will satisfy John's concern for him. "Oh. Home Right." John responds and Sherlock catches a hint of disappointment in his voice.

_Why should he be disappointed? I will sleep. At home. _

_Wait - home. That's the part that bothered John. Why should that bother him? _

_That's where I always sleep. No. Wrong. _

_Sleeping in cabs more frequently. Not sleeping. Pretense. _

_On couch though. Sleeping next to John. Waking up with John. _

_Close contact. Cabs. Pretense. Cuddle. Kiss._

Oh.

And suddenly it all clicks together like lead against flint lighting a spark.

Exasperated with his own idiocy he growls in frustration. It's so obvious. How could he have missed it? Why hadn't he acted on it? "To hell with pretense!" he snaps for his sake more than John's since John's has no idea what he means by it.

He slides across the cab to John's side and possessively wraps his arms around him; dropping his head against him with a resolute huff.

"Uh-Sherlock?" "Yes John?" "What are you doing?" "I believe it's commonly referred to as cuddling. Also know as snuggling -" "I know. I mean - um - why?" "Because I want to. It's a common way to show affection isn't it?" "Show affection?" "Yes John."

"And you're showing me affection because?" "Oh come on John. Even you aren't that slow. It's obvious I care for you and it's obvious you care for me." "Care for -

Wait. So you're saying -" "That I want us to cuddle. Like a proper couple. I want to be a proper couple. Boyfriends. Or whatever label you prefer" Sherlock finishes for him.

And Johns actually laughs. From relief mainly. "What?" Sherlock demands at his amusement. "Nothing it's just - God I'm an idiot." "Not that I'm disagreeing but what prompted that statement?" "I've been worrying over all this; my attraction to you, the cuddling in cabs and then waking up together that morning. Just running myself ragged worrying over every possible outcome. And wondering if I should tell you; what I would say. What you would say. And here we are. Cuddling and talking about being in a couple like it's a common average thing. Like brewing a cup of tea." "Relationships are common John. And so is tea." Sherlock reminds him. "Yeah. I suppose. Unless you have to brew it while dodging body parts." John chuckles. Sherlock smiles at the analogy saying "I suppose that's how our relationship will be. Brewing tea and dodging a few body parts and experiments along the way." John grins. "Careful Sherlock. That was bordering sentimental."

Sherlock can't help the wicked grin that overtakes his face when he quips "Body parts and experiments are sentimental? I was making an offer."

It takes John a few moments to process and understand Sherlock's meaning.

"Oh" is all he can say in the end. Not because that was the end of his sentence though. It's just his mouth suddenly becomes rather occupied. In both meanings of the word.

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